Because He's Needed
by GreyLadyBast
Summary: AN removed due to new ff.net rules. When Bilbo falls sick, young Frodo learns some uncomfortable lessons about love, duty, friendship and growing up. Pre-FOTR.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer—I daresay the readers here are intelligent enough to figure out what is Tolkien's and what is mine.  
  
A/N—So many pre-FOTR stories have Frodo falling sick, but what if Bilbo was the one to be in danger? It's something of a rite of passage for Frodo, but I can NOT think of a decent title for this to save my life! Please help.  
  
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"Blast it, Frodo Baggins, where have you got off to this time???" Clover Proudfoot bellowed into the air above Bag End. She'd been sent by her mother to find Frodo, but he was nowhere to be seen, of course. That lad was the easily the most exasperating hobbit in the Shire. Ever since he'd come to Hobbiton to be adopted as Bilbo's heir, he'd been nothing but trouble to Clover. If he wasn't her cousin…….  
  
"Frodo!! Come down here now! Mother needs to talk to you!" Clover continued to call as she searched. She grew more aggravated the longer it took to find him. Her errand was truly pressing, her news of the utmost urgency. Frodo would berate himself for not realizing the gravity of the situation, but he wouldn't know if she couldn't find him to tell him!  
  
"Honestly, that hobbit! Out tramping with elves, no doubt, when he is so sorely needed at home. He will never forgive himself if…….No, I won't think of that right now. Focus on the task at hand, girl. Find Frodo Baggins!" Clover had a habit of talking to herself, to inanimate objects, to people who were not listening, to the air, to anything and everything. The hobbit lass found it difficult to think without talking. She was inordinately fond of the sound of her own voice.  
  
She tramped through the woods, calling Frodo's name. Periodically, she would stop to pick some herbs she knew the apothecary needed, but mostly she hunted for Frodo. The sun began to sink low in the sky, with still no sign of that frustrating hobbit. Clover grew frantic. She needed to be back helping her mother. Frodo, too, needed to be there, not off wherever he was, doing who-knew-what. Clover had never been one to handle frustration well, especially when the need was urgent. She began to cry.  
  
"Why are you crying, Clover?" Frodo asked, popping up from behind a tree and startling her out of her wits. She took an instinctive swing at him. Frodo, long used to his cousin's volatile temper, ducked just in time.  
  
"Where on Middle-Earth have you BEEN???" she demanded, wiping tears away. "Don't you know when you're needed around here?? I've been hunting all day for you!!! You have to come back with me to Bag End right now!!"  
  
Frodo held up his hands defensively. "Calm down, Clover. I've been walking, that's all. I felt the need to get out of the smial."  
  
"Hmmm!" Clover snorted, not bothering to disguise her annoyance. "Walking, indeed! You're needed back IN the smial! We are both needed, right now! I've wasted quite enough time looking for you. Didn't you hear me calling??"  
  
Frodo gave Clover his best stupid look. Of course he'd heard his cousin calling, she had a voice that was impossible not to hear. He had simply ignored it, knowing how prone to exaggeration Clover tended to be. He was not ready to go back indoors, no matter what chores his Aunt Citrine thought so vital. He would not have left his hiding spot at all, except he never could stand the sight of a maid crying. Especially Clover, as she hardly ever cried. She may have been one of the strangest hobbits in the Shire, but she was also one of the toughest. It was the Proudfoot in her.  
  
"Don't give me that look, Frodo Baggins, I was using it on Mother when you were still wasting your time in Brandy Hall!" Clover shouted. Normally, she was not so prejudiced against the Bucklanders as other hobbits, since her mother's sister Esmeralda had married one of them and she knew them well. Merry Brandybuck was a closer cousin to her than Frodo, and much more likeable to Clover's mind. Right now, though, she was in what her Uncle Paladin Took called "A State", and anything Frodo said or did was liable to get on her nerves.  
  
Frodo, to his credit, did his best to calm his distressed cousin. "Clover, I don't understand what you're so upset about," he said gently.  
  
"Of course you don't!!!" Clover exploded. "YOU'VE been out wandering, with nary a care in the world, while Mother and I have been breaking our backs keeping Bilbo alive!!"  
  
Frodo's already-pale skin turned milk-white. "What do you mean, keeping Bilbo alive?" he asked softly.  
  
Instantly, Clover knew her sharp tongue had gotten the better of her again. She wiped away more tears and gulped. "Bilbo is sick. Very sick. If Gaffer Gamgee hadn't found him and called Mother instantly, he'd be dead by now. You simply MUST come back to Bag End, and so must I. We are needed," Clover said with as much control as she could muster. Proudfeet were known for grace under pressure.  
  
"Bilbo? Sick?" Frodo looked helpless, like he had lost the only thing that made his life worth living. Clover forgot her own fear as her heart went out to her most irritating cousin.  
  
"Frodo, he's in good hands," she reassured. "Mother is there, and Doctor Bolger as well. They will see him safely through this, if any hobbit in the Shire can. But we must return to Bag End as swiftly as possible. I have herbs Mother will need, and I am certain having you there will help Bilbo recover." Frodo may be annoying, but Bilbo had always been one of her favorite relations. He told the most wonderful stories. More importantly, he did not look at Clover as if she was insane all the time, like her Proudfoot family did. Bilbo was the main reason she tolerated Frodo.  
  
Frodo was silent, shocked senseless. Bilbo had always been his strength, the one thing he could hang onto since his parents had drowned. Losing him was simply unthinkable. Frodo could feel tears slipping down his cheek.  
  
Clover looked at her cousin. She could not even imagine losing her beloved parents, let alone them and her favorite uncle. Furthermore, she had the same opinion of a lad's tears that Frodo did of a maid's. In fact, the cousins were much alike, which was why they clashed so often. She did the only thing she could think of at the time. She gathered Frodo into her arms and hugged him tight. "Shhh…..it'll be all right, I promise. Mother will put things right. But we DO need to get to Bag End quickly," she said. Clover was at her best when taking care of someone in need.  
  
Frodo clung to his cousin for several moments, until he regained his control. To his credit, and Clover's astonishment, that didn't take long at all. He broke the embrace, and squared his shoulders. "Let's get back. Bilbo needs me."  
  
Clover bit back a tart reply. Instead, she nodded. The hobbits headed directly to Bag End with all the speed they could muster. 


	2. chapter 2

A/N—Thanks to all who reviewed. Special thanks to MarigoldG for inspiring the title.  
  
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As the hobbits made their way back towards the smial and Bilbo, Clover kept up a nonstop stream of chatter. Her intent was to keep Frodo from worrying overmuch, but the effect was more annoying than anything. She was explaining the air-purifying, spirit-lifting virtues of common kingsfoil and decrying the Gamgees for dismissing it as a weed when Frodo decided he'd had enough. The one thing he wanted to hear was the only subject Clover hadn't touched on in her prattling. He stopped so abruptly that Clover continued on for several steps before realizing her cousin was no longer beside her. She turned to face him.  
  
Frodo had regained much of his composure, but the effort cost him. He was paler than usual, even for him. Nervousness was written all over his face. He glared at Clover, hands on his hips. His fierce expression didn't fool her, though. She's known Frodo Baggins her whole life, and could tell when he was hiding fear. "What, Frodo?" she asked, somewhat more harshly than necessary. She, too, feared for Bilbo.  
  
"Clover, what is wrong with Bilbo?" Frodo asked bluntly.  
  
The hobbit lass was taken aback. Bluntness was not a quality she associated with Frodo Baggins. She hemmed and hawed for several minutes, not entirely certain how to explain the situation. Frodo grew more fearful the longer Clover stalled. Finally his patience snapped and he snarled at his cousin. "Tell me! I need to know!"  
  
"Frodo……." Clover started. She could tell she wasn't going to get away with merely bringing him back to the smial and letting the adults explain what was going on. She took a deep breath, screwed up her courage and finally said "Doctor Bolger thinks it's consumption."  
  
Frodo rocked back on his heels, stricken. Consumption was always fatal in hobbits. Always. The shock cost Frodo his balance, and he fell hard onto the ground, landing on his bum. He began to shake, then cry. "But he was fine when I left this morning!"  
  
Clover ran to her cousin. She knelt beside him, wrapped her arms around him and rocked him back and forth like a child. "Shhh, Frodo, it's not so bad…"she began to say.  
  
"Not so bad???" Frodo interrupted, astonished she could say such a thing. Clover's mother was the apothecary, she KNEW what consumption did to hobbits. Especially hobbits of Bilbo's age.  
  
The lass let go of Frodo, stung by his tone. She stood up and tried very hard to remember that Frodo had just had a terrible shock, so she must be patient with him. "I say it's not so bad, because Mother doesn't agree with Doctor Bolger. She says whatever is wrong with Bilbo came on far too quickly to be consumption. You said yourself, he was fine when you left this morning, right?"  
  
Frodo nodded miserably. He wanted very much to believe Clover, but still…..consumption……  
  
Clover's heart went out to Frodo. He had a way of getting on her nerves faster than any hobbit in the Shire, her own family included, but she never could stay angry at him for long. Especially when he was suffering as he was now. She knelt down beside him and hugged him quickly. "It will be all right, I promise. Mother will make things better, she always does. Now, come. We simply must get to Bag End."  
  
Frodo nodded again. He got himself back under control and stood. "I'm better now. The sooner we get to Bilbo, the better. I need to see him for myself."  
  
"Talking to Mother might do you some good, as well. She really doesn't think it's consumption, you know," Clover pointed out.  
  
"I'd trust Aunt Citrine's opinion over Doctor Bolger's any day," Frodo replied.  
  
Clover laughed. Many hobbits felt that way about their physicians, though none of them ever let poor Doctor Bolger in on it. It wasn't that he was a bad physician, just that he tended to diagnose the same five illnesses, no matter the symptoms. His bedside manner left much to be desired, as well. So hobbits called Doctor Bolger, then followed Citrine Proudfoot's advice anyway.  
  
The walk back to Bag End was not long, but it felt that way. The hobbits walked in silence now, for Clover felt Frodo needed quiet for his thoughts. Keeping her mouth shut was difficult indeed, but nothing compared to what Frodo must be going through.  
  
For his part, Frodo kept quiet because he was talking himself out of fearing the worst. He kept repeating silently "Aunt Citrine says it's not consumption. Aunt Citrine says it's not consumption." He hoped if he told himself that enough, he would begin to believe it. Still, the sooner he got to Bilbo and saw for himself, the better. 


	3. chapter 3

Frodo grew more solemn the closer they came to Bag End. By the time he and Clover left the woods and entered Hobbiton proper, he was positively grim. Clover glanced over at her cousin. He was sweating, biting his lip and swallowing periodically. She desperately wanted to say something, anything, to comfort poor Frodo, but she couldn't for the life of her think of a thing. If Frodo hadn't been so wrapped up in his worry for Bilbo, he'd realize how uncharacteristically quiet his cousin was. As it stood, he had other things on his mind.  
  
Just around the corner from Bag End, Frodo suddenly stopped. For the second time in one walk, Clover continued on without him for several steps before realizing he'd halted. She stopped and turned toward him.  
  
The sight that greeted her eyes would haunt her for a long time after. Only the horrors she saw during her own adventures, many years later, would compete with the way Frodo looked just then. He was shaking and pale. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists, shuddering each time. The expression in his eyes was one of pure terror, as tears ran freely down his cheeks. "Clover…" he breathed. "I can't…"  
  
Clover rushed to her cousin. She took both his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. It occurred to her then just how very blue they were. Funny how she'd never noticed that before. However, Frodo's eyes weren't the business at hand. The pain in them was.  
  
"Frodo, you can do this. You have to," she said steadily.  
  
Frodo shook his head. "I can't. I just can't. What if Bilbo's…..what if he's…..?" He dropped his gaze and sobbed, unable to finish his words.  
  
Clover gathered Frodo into her arms for a comforting hug. She let him sob for just a little while, then took him by the shoulders and gave him a small shake. When he looked up at her, she said "Listen to me, Frodo Baggins. You CAN to this, I know it. You are far stronger than you think you are, my friend. Bilbo needs that strength now. He needs to see you, know that you're there, and that you need him. Many times, the will to get better makes all the difference in a recovery. It would not surprise me at all to see Bilbo beat this thing all the faster because he's needed."  
  
Frodo nodded. He gulped, and visibly got himself under control. Clover wiped his tears away and smiled. "Buck up, my friend. It'll be all right," she said with a cheerfulness she did not feel.  
  
"That's twice you've said that. You've never called me that before," Frodo commented.  
  
Clover was perplexed. "Called you what?" she asked.  
  
"My friend. You've never called me 'my friend' before," Frodo explained. He was desperately hanging onto anything he could to keep his fear for Bilbo at bay. He focused on the unusual behavior of his most irritating cousin (well, second most irritating. Lotho Sackville-Baggins was still the worst). Any port in a storm….  
  
Clover thought about her words, and realized he was quite right. She blushed furiously, and scowled at Frodo. "Yes, well, don't get used to it! It's only because….because….because Bilbo's so sick and you're taking it so badly," she blurted out at last. She most certainly WAS NOT about to admit it had more to do with a certain pair of eyes, or the shy smile he gave as she reassured him, or the way it felt to hug him. She would not admit that even to herself. Frodo Baggins was still the Annoying One, as far as Clover was concerned. Or so she insisted in her thoughts.  
  
Frodo sighed. Now THAT was more like the cousin he knew, brash and insensitive. Still, it brought his focus back to the matter at hand. "Let's get to Bag End. I need to see Bilbo," he said quietly.  
  
"First intelligent thing you've said since I found you!" Clover snarled. She knew she'd been overly harsh with Frodo, and it bothered her. That it bothered her, confused her, and she did not like being confused. Especially by Frodo Baggins, of all hobbits!! So she did what she always did; she covered up her feelings by being bossy and defensive. That, too, was the Proudfoot in her.  
  
Frodo said nothing. He just walked resolutely toward Bag End, and whatever horrible sight awaited him in Bilbo's room. Clover followed, angry with herself, with Bilbo's illness, with Frodo and with the world in general. She wanted only to deliver her cousin to her mother, then go find some private place to figure out these strange new thoughts. It occurred to neither hobbit that all of this might simply be part of growing up. 


	4. chapter 4

A/N—While I have an amateur interest in herbalism, I am no apothecary. I have researched the herbs mentioned a little, but I have no true concept of how they interact with each other, or if they'd grow anywhere near each other in Middle Earth's climate. Much creative license has been taken with this, for the sake of texture in the story. If anyone DOES know the proper usage of the herbs mentioned, or more appropriate substitutes, feel free to email me or leave the info in a review. Above all DO NOT try any of Clover or Citrine Proudfoot's homeopathic remedies by yourself, unless you are a trained herbalist!!!  
  
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Aunt Citrine was standing in the garden of Bag End when the young hobbits approached. She looked upset, and was muttering to herself. Frodo's blood ran cold as he immediately assumed the worst. Clover saw his look and forgot her anger. She took his hand quickly and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze before running to her mother. Frodo followed more slowly, his heart heavy.  
  
"Mother, we're back!" Clover called. Her mother had bent down to inspect a plant and had not seen them. Citrine Proudfoot straightened at the sound of her daughter's voice. "I have some herbs, too. Bennet and loosestrife and cowslip, as well as a little wild horseradish. I thought they might help some," Clover continued.  
  
"Good girl! I was just looking for horseradish. Honestly, what hobbit doesn't grow horseradish in the garden?" Citrine said.  
  
Frodo found his voice, and spoke. "We had some, but we used the last of it a few days ago. I'm sorry."  
  
"No need to be sorry, my boy," Aunt Citrine replied. "I have horseradish aplenty at the apothecary. I just did not wish to leave Bilbo unattended for so long."  
  
"Unattended?" Clover asked with visible disapproval. "Where, then, is Doctor Bolger?"  
  
Her mother pursed her lips in what Clover privately called the Doctor Bolger Look. "He was called away to assist with a birthing," was all Citrine would admit to. Clover suspected there was more to it than that, but knew better than to push her mother for information.  
  
"Will you take Frodo in to see Bilbo now?" she asked instead. "He is anxious to see him."  
  
"Not just yet, my dears," Citrine replied. Seeing the hurt and confused expression on Frodo's face, she continued "I want you to know what to expect before you see him, young Frodo. It would not do for you to panic."  
  
"Panic?" Frodo squeaked. Visions of Bilbo's lifeless body ran through his head, and he swooned. Clover caught him, sparing a glare for her mother for scaring him so.  
  
Aunt Citrine realized then just what meaning Frodo had taken from her casual comment. "Oh, no, my dear boy, I don't mean it like that! Bilbo is very much alive, but he is not awake. Nor is he likely to wake soon, until I can figure out just what felled him in the first place."  
  
Frodo, now sitting on the ground with Clover hovering protectively over him, glanced up at his aunt. "Clover mentioned consumption….." he said tentatively.  
  
Citrine turned her own glare on her daughter. For a moment, mother and daughter looked very much alike. "I DID tell him you disagreed, Mother," Clover muttered defensively.  
  
Aunt Citrine nodded, and turned her attention back to Frodo. "That I do. Doctor Bolger thinks any cough is indicative of consumption, but I know its other symptoms. Bilbo's condition does not match them. Unfortunately, I do not know what his symptoms DO match. It is unlike any other illness I have seen."  
  
Frodo nodded miserably. That it was not consumption was good, but if Aunt Citrine did not know what ailed Bilbo, no one would. And that was very, very bad.  
  
Aunt Citrine led Frodo and Clover into Bag End. As soon as the hobbits entered, they could hear a horrible racking cough coming from Bilbo's bedroom. Frodo immediately made to go to him, but Aunt Citrine stopped him. "I need to talk to you first, young Frodo. You must understand what you will see before you go in there."  
  
Frodo looked argumentative, but his aunt would not be contradicted. She sat Frodo down on the couch and took her seat next to him. "Clover," she said, glancing at her daughter.  
  
"Yes, Mother?" Clover replied.  
  
"I want you to go in and keep an eye on Bilbo while I talk to Frodo. You already know what to expect," Citrine instructed.  
  
Clover paled. She did NOT want to go in there, see Bilbo so frail and sick, hear him cough. She wanted to get out of Bag End, go somewhere she could be alone, to think things through in private. "But Mother…" she began to protest.  
  
Again, Citrine Proudfoot would not be gainsaid. She glared at her recalcitrant offspring until Clover sighed, and obeyed.  
  
Once her daughter was safely away, Citrine turned her attention to her nephew. Frodo was staring at Bilbo's bedroom door, biting his lip so hard a rivulet of blood trickled down his chin. Citrine was willing to bet he hadn't even noticed it.  
  
"Frodo?" she called quietly, to get his attention. When she had it, she continued. "Would you rather ask questions, or simply have me explain what happened after you left this morning?"  
  
Frodo swallowed. "Just explain," he asked in a small voice, staring again at the bedroom door.  
  
Citrine nodded, not surprised. "Today is payday for the Gamgees, you know that, don't you?" she began. When Frodo nodded, she continued. "Normally, Bilbo goes to Bagshot Row to pay, but this morning, when he didn't show up, Gaffer Gamgee came to Bag End. He knows Bilbo never forgets an obligation…"  
  
"No, he doesn't," Frodo interrupted.  
  
Citrine scowled, but let it go. She went on, "So, the Gaffer figured something must be wrong to prevent Bilbo coming over. When he got here, he found Bilbo unconscious on the floor, coughing up blood."  
  
Frodo gasped. He felt his insides go cold with fear. If coughing up blood wasn't indicative of consumption, he didn't know what it could mean. Nothing safe, of that he was certain.  
  
Aunt Citrine saw her nephew's reaction. She took his hand and patted it reassuringly. "Frodo, trust me when I tell you this is NOT consumption. Bilbo had no fatigue prior to this, at least not excessive for one of his age, he had no shortness of breath, he most certainly has not been losing weight for no reason, and his fever is very high and very sudden, not the slight fever of consumption. Furthermore, Bilbo does have symptoms completely unassociated with that disease. He is delirious, he is convulsing, his fever is dangerously high, and even the lightest touch seems to give him pain. The sudden onset of this thing also gives lie to Doctor Bolger's diagnosis. Were this not the Shire, I for one would suspect foul craft in this illness. It strikes me as unnatural."  
  
That got Frodo's full attention. Aunt Citrine was a Took by birth, elder sister to the current Thain, with all the adventurousness of that breed. It was whispered that in her younger days, she had disappeared into the wild for some years. When she returned, she had knowledge of herbs no hobbit before had possessed. She finished her apprenticeship as herbalist for form's sake only, then took over the apothecary from the ailing Tigo Boffin. Eventually she settled down, married Marmaduke Proudfoot and had children. To all appearances she was now a proper hobbit matron, but still, stories of her odd learning spread about the Shire. It was said she knew ways of magic, learned directly from the Elves, or possibly that Disturber of the Peace, Gandalf. Citrine herself never discussed her Wandering Time, except in very vague terms with Bilbo.  
  
"Unnatural?" Frodo asked. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Nothing," Citrine replied, rather sharply. "Forget I said it. Are you ready to go in and see Bilbo now?"  
  
Frodo gulped. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he nodded resolutely. Citrine smiled, proud of this young hobbit's bravery in the face of what must be a terrible hurt to him. She stood, brushed her skirts and held out a hand to help Frodo up.  
  
"Just remember that Bilbo is a very sick hobbit. His appearance may frighten you. He remains unconscious, and doubtless will not wake. He may babble nonsense to you, as he is very delirious. I suspect he is reliving his adventures, or even further back in his past. He most likely will convulse while you are in there. If he does, simply stay out of his way, and wait for the seizure to pass. If you are frightened overly much, call for me. I will be right outside this door. It is entirely up to you if you would have Clover keep you company, though I would recommend it. This is not a thing to face alone," Frodo's aunt said.  
  
Frodo managed to look at once aghast yet strangely reassured at that suggestion. "I will consider it," he said at last.  
  
Aunt Citrine suppressed a laugh. Now was not the time to be amused by the vagaries of youth, nor speculate on her nephew's odd relationship with her elder daughter. She simply opened the door to Bilbo's bedroom, and held it for Frodo.  
  
The young hobbit paused for a moment. He was sorely afraid to enter the sickroom. Already, he could hear Clover's nonstop babbling. He was not certain he could face this. He glanced at his aunt, who smiled gently. Frodo squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and entered Bilbo's room. 


	5. chapter 5

While her mother sat Frodo down to explain things, Clover slowly pushed open the door to Bilbo's sickroom. As she entered the darkened room, she could smell the sweetly pungent aroma of lavender and kingsfoil. Sure enough, when she approached the bed, on the side table was a bowl of cool water, with a small sachet in it. In the bowl was a soft cloth. Obviously Mother had been laving Bilbo's face with it. Clover thought that an excellent idea, so she settled down on the side of the bed to do the same.  
  
She was shocked by the change in Bilbo's appearance. He had deteriorated visibly in the few short hours she had been searching for Frodo. His skin was waxen and white. His eyes had sunk into his head, and there were huge, bruise-like smudges under them. Beads of sweat shone on his face, which was screwed up in pain. He seemed……shrunken……somehow, as if his spirit was no longer big enough for his small body. He tossed restlessly in the bed, muttering incoherently. When Clover touched the fragrant damp cloth to his forehead, Bilbo arched up in a seizure. He quivered for several minutes, making no sound, before collapsing back onto the bed, panting.  
  
Clover waited for the convulsion to pass before trying again. This time, when she touched the cloth to his face, Bilbo groaned in pain, but did not seize up. Clover counted that a vast improvement, so she continued her ministrations. As she did, she began to chatter.  
  
"Oh, Bilbo," she said, at first lost for words. She wanted to talk, because that was her way of dealing with things, and because she knew patients in this condition often could hear, and find hope and strength in what they heard, but she did not know what to say. Too many thoughts were rushing willy-nilly through her brain, chasing each other round and round like a group of hobbit children at play. But there was nothing playful about this situation, or her thoughts. She wanted so badly to be away, perhaps by a nice little stream with a pipe, or even at home in the room she shared with her little sister, Thistle. She wanted to be anywhere that was not here, watching her favorite uncle suffer while she could do nothing for him. But here her duty lay, and here she would remain, at least until Mother was done with Frodo and he could take over this horrid vigil.  
  
The image of Frodo as he looked just before they reached Bag End sprang unbidden into Clover's mind. She did not want to dwell on Frodo Baggins just then, so she pushed the image aside. She focused instead on Bilbo, on cleaning his sweat-stained face with the soft scented cloth.  
  
"Poor Bilbo," she said as she worked. "What could possibly have brought you to this, so quickly? You're one of the healthiest hobbits I know! You're never sick, never have been in all the time I've known you! Mother always said that if all hobbits took care of themselves the way you do, we'd be out of business. It hurts my heart to see you like this. I do wish you'd hurry up and get better."  
  
Bilbo began to cough, a painful hacking that came from deep inside. He spit up blood, mixed with some sort of foul brown goo. Clover did not want to ruin the lavender-kingsfoil cloth, so she got another one from the pile on the bedside table, and wiped the ick off Bilbo's face. He groaned with pain between the coughs.  
  
Clover folded the goo-covered cloth up and put it aside. She didn't want to keep it, as the smell was truly vile, but she knew her mother would want to study it. If they were to cure whatever ailed Bilbo, every clue would be needed.  
  
Eventually, the coughing fit subsided. Bilbo lay exhausted in the bed, moaning and gasping for breath. Clover wanted badly to do something for him. She had noticed a bottle of Mother's favorite cough medicine on the bedside table. She was tempted to give him a dose, but since she did not know when the last dose had been given, she refrained. The medicine was powerful stuff, an overdose could kill a weakened patient. Bilbo most certainly fit that category. So, no medicine.  
  
She could, and did, give Bilbo some water. She had to tip his head back and pour it down his throat, as he was in no condition to sip on his own. Clover doubted he was even aware of what she did. He did wince in pain when she touched him, but there was no helping that.  
  
"Bilbo, you simply MUST get better!" Clover said as she put the water glass back on the bedside table. "You are NOT allowed to die just yet. I know that you are old, but you are hale and hearty, you can beat this thing. Frodo needs you to beat it, and so do I. Who will tell me stories of the Elves, if you go? Who will understand when I talk about wanting to go on adventures? You're the only one who doesn't treat me like a lunatic for wanting to see some of the world before settling down. Even Mother, who had her adventures, acts like it's a horrid thing for me to want to go exploring. You're the only one who cares, the only one who listens without judging. I need you, Bilbo. You can't leave me alone!"  
  
Bilbo sighed. His restless tossing settled down somewhat. Clover thought he might actually be listening to her. He was one of the only people in the Shire who did not seem to mind her incessant chattering about every little thing. In fact, he had always encouraged it, saying "If that's how you are, Clover, my lass, then that's how you must be. Don't let the narrow-mindedness of others dictate your way of living. Be yourself, and let everyone else learn to deal with you as you choose to be." Wise words from a wise hobbit.  
  
"Bilbo, dear, please wake up," Clover murmured as she once again bathed his forehead with cool water. His fever was high, and nothing seemed to bring it down. Clover was worried, but she could do nothing except talk to Bilbo. So, talk she did.  
  
"I need to talk to you, dear Bilbo, about Frodo. There's no one else I can discuss this with. It's so confusing! He's….well…..he's still annoying, but not in the way I'm used to him being annoying! I don't understand it. I just know I need to talk to you. I need you, Bilbo, now more than ever. And so does Frodo. You should have seen him, when I told him about what happened. I thought my heart would break, he looked so lost and helpless. He's afraid for you, Bilbo. We all are. So, please, come back to us! Please…"  
  
Bilbo startled her out of her ramblings with another seizure. This one was much more violent than previously. Clover seriously worried that he would do himself an injury as he thrashed about on the bed. Everything breakable had already been removed from his reach, but still……  
  
The lass fretted until the fit passed. It seemed to take forever, though in reality it only lasted a few minutes. She glanced at the door, wondering what in the Shire could be taking Mother and Frodo so long. She needed to get out of this sickroom, get by herself soon. Clover understood Frodo's need for privacy and quiet because she herself shared it. If she didn't get some time alone soon, she felt she would pop. The stress of sitting vigil with Bilbo was not helping her state of mind at all. Where on Middle Earth was Frodo?  
  
Clover busied herself with rearranging Bilbo's covers, now that he had settled down. She tucked him in comfortably, then gave him more water. He moaned and began to babble. Clover could not make out many of the words. What she could sounded like "Gollum" and "Precious" and other nonsense. The only thing she clearly understood was when Bilbo moaned Frodo's name. The lass seized on that as something to talk about, since Bilbo was focused on it.  
  
"Bilbo, you know Frodo needs you still. He's so young," Clover conveniently ignored the fact that she was a bare two months older than Frodo. She'd always felt so much more mature than her flighty cousin, the closeness of their ages made no impression on her. "If you die now, what will become of him? He can't inherit Bag End, he's not of age yet. Those horrible Sackville-Bagginses could try to have him ousted from here! Then where will he go? Back to Brandy Hall? That can't work. I remember how relieved he was to be away from there when you adopted him. Brandy Hall is too large, too overpopulated for a sensitive soul like Frodo. He needs space, peace and quiet to think in, and he can't get it there, that's certain. Mother might want to take him in but…" Clover paused. The thought of Frodo Baggins actually LIVING in her house was too much to be contemplated. Especially coming so close on the heels of her earlier confusion about that cousin. Clover shied away from that line of thought.  
  
"Bilbo, what am I going to do? You have to get better! You have to wake up. You're needed by so many hobbits. Not just me or Frodo, but by many. What about the Gamgees? What about Mother? I know you're the only person she ever feels comfortable talking about her adventures to. You have to wake up, Bilbo! You can't die. You must come back to us," the hobbit lass moaned. She was so wrapped up in her worry over Bilbo, she did not hear the door open. She did not notice Frodo enter, and pause by the doorframe. Clover was not aware that he'd been standing there, working up his courage to enter, and had heard his cousin talking about him to Bilbo. She only noticed him when he softly called her name. For the second time today, Frodo managed to startle Clover out of her wits.  
  
"Frodo!" she exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Long enough," Frodo replied wryly. He did not move from the doorway.  
  
Clover blushed right down to her furry toes. She began to speak, "Frodo, I…" Then she changed her mind. "Come here. Bilbo needs to know you're with him. Talk to him. I think he can hear us," she said instead.  
  
Frodo walked slowly over to the bed. He gasped when he saw Bilbo. This was worse than he imagined, and his imaginings were bad enough. Bilbo looked dead. If he hadn't begun to cough just then, Frodo might have truly believed he was dead.  
  
The cough startled Frodo, and he began to back away. Clover caught his arm. "Stay, Frodo. I know this is hard for you, but Bilbo needs you here. You must be strong," she said.  
  
Frodo gulped, and nodded. When the coughing subsided, he sat down on the edge of Bilbo's bed. He folded his lips in an obvious attempt to keep back a sob. Tears shone in his eyes.  
  
"Would you like me to leave you alone with him?" Clover asked.  
  
Frodo glanced up. He had quite forgotten she was there. He nodded, "Yes. Please."  
  
"Very well," Clover replied. She handed him the lavender-and- kingsfoil scented cloth. "Dip this in that basin and bathe his forehead. It seems to soothe him, but be gentle. Touch causes him pain, I think," she instructed before taking her leave. Frodo was left alone with his unconscious uncle. 


	6. Chapter 6

The door clicked softly shut as Clover left. Frodo was left to face Bilbo's illness on his own. He didn't feel strong enough or mature enough to be dealing with this, but he knew he had no choice. Clover was right, Bilbo needed him to be strong. He'd found a sort of undiscovered strength inside himself before, when his parents died, and in a few other times of crisis. He just needed to figure out how to access that part of himself now. Unfortunately, he hadn't the faintest clue how to do it.  
  
Frodo was silent for a long time, watching Bilbo and trying to figure out how to be strong for him. He tried gently washing Bilbo's face with the cool scented cloth, as Clover instructed, but with every touch, his uncle winced as if in horribly agony. Frodo could not bear to inflict pain on his beloved Bilbo, so he stopped and merely watched him sleep. If sleep it could be called.  
  
For this was no proper sleep, borne of no proper illness. Bilbo was restless, thrashing and muttering in his delirium. Every now and then, he would fling his arms about, as if warding off a blow, or dealing one. It seemed to Frodo that Bilbo was lost in a dark place, reliving his most horrible memories. He muttered about spiders, barrels, armies and Smaug. But most of all, he talked of Gollum, and his Precious. Though Clover did not understand the references, not having heard the story, Frodo did. He wondered why his uncle was fixated on that, out of all his adventures. It made no sense.  
  
Another coughing fit shook Bilbo, startling Frodo out of his reverie. He waited anxiously for the fit to pass. When it did, the older hobbit's face was covered in blood and some sort of repulsive brown goo. Frodo grimaced as he wiped Bilbo's face clean with a cloth. For a wonder, he did not wince in pain, so Frodo took the chance of bathing his face with the herbal water. If Clover said it would help, Frodo was inclined to believe her. She may be an irritant, but she knew her herbs. She was apprenticed to her mother and took her learning seriously.  
  
"Oh Bilbo," Frodo said as he wiped the older hobbit's face. "How can I help you? I don't know anything about healing or herbs. I don't know anything about illnesses or how to treat them. I don't know anything about anything!"  
  
Bilbo shuddered. Frodo immediately removed his hand, just in time. Bilbo reared up in another convulsion. He thrashed and twitched on the bed, kicking and flailing his arms. Frodo, standing too close, took a knee to the jaw and went down, dazed. By the time he got back up, Bilbo was quiet again.  
  
Frodo sat back on the edge of the bed, rubbing his jaw. He could already feel the bruise forming. He knew it wasn't really Bilbo's fault. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little resentful. As he watched Bilbo and reflected on his own inability to help, the resentment grew. His mind touched on what Clover had said just as he entered, about the Sackville- Bagginses being able to evict him if Bilbo died, and the resentment turned to anger. Something in Frodo snapped.  
  
"How can you do this to me, Bilbo??" Frodo screamed. "How can you leave me alone again??? Isn't it enough that my parents died??? Isn't enough that I spent all those years overlooked and suffocating in Brandy Hall, before you finally got around to adopting me?? Isn't enough that most of the Shire considers me odd, just because I'm a Baggins and your heir?? All that isn't enough, now you have to go and get sick and leave me alone and homeless!! How can you do this to me????"  
  
Frodo fell sobbing onto Bilbo's chest, his tears mingling with the sweat on Bilbo's nightshirt. The lad wept until he could weep no more, then lay exhausted on Bilbo's chest, listening to his uncle's heartbeat. It was fluttery and weak, not the steady thud-thud he was used to. Bilbo didn't even smell like Bilbo, but rather musty and foul, like some dark, dank cave. Frodo breathed and listened with his eyes closed, trying to find something of his dear uncle in this wrecked shell of a hobbit.  
  
For a long time, he felt nothing. It seemed to him a shadow lay over his uncle, driving out all the goodness and wisdom that made him so beloved in the Shire, leaving behind only a shrunken thing that used to be Bilbo Baggins. The thought so depressed Frodo, he began to cry again, softly and without hope.  
  
"Bilbo," he whispered. "If you die, I don't know what I'll do."  
  
Frodo felt a gentle hand on his hair, weakly stroking it once before laying still. He heard a thready whisper, "….my dear boy….." that startled him out of his despair.  
  
He sat up and looked at Bilbo. Bright eyes twinkled back at him. Bilbo smiled wanly at Frodo, just for a moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Frodo screamed, falling on Bilbo again. He grabbed his uncle by the shoulders and shook him. "No!!! Bilbo!! Come back!!! Wake up!!! I know you can wake up!!!!"  
  
Frodo was still screaming and shaking Bilbo when strong hands pulled him off. Clover and Aunt Citrine had heard the noise and came running. Citrine wasted no time in pulling the distraught Frodo off. She handed him over to Clover and checked on Bilbo. "Keep Frodo back," was all she said.  
  
Clover had her hands full. Frodo struggled against her, straining to reach Bilbo. In the end, Clover was forced to wrestle her cousin to the floor and sit on him to keep him out of Mother's way. Frodo protested, but eventually realized he was not about to be let up, and settled down.  
  
Once Aunt Citrine satisfied herself that her patient had taken no additional hurt, she turned her attention to Frodo. She glared at him, hands on her hips, for several seconds before instructing Clover to let him up.  
  
Clover did as she was told without argument, for once. She knew better than to cross her mother when she used that tone of voice. The lass stood up, helped Frodo up, and then stepped back out of the path of Mother's wrath.  
  
"What, exactly, was that all about, Frodo Baggins?" Citrine asked, her voice dangerously soft. Clover winced, knowing what was in store. Frodo normally would have done so too, having been on the receiving end of Aunt Citrine's anger often enough before to know the warning signs. Right now, however, he was so tormented by Bilbo's illness, his own fear and those few seconds of clarity from his uncle, he disregarded his better judgment entirely.  
  
"Bilbo woke up!!!" he cried, matching anger for anger.  
  
That threw cold water on whatever dressing-down Citrine was about to give Frodo. "He did? When? For how long? What happened?" she wanted to know.  
  
"Just now, for a second. He stroked my hair, spoke to me just for an instant, then fell back into….this…" Frodo said hurriedly, gesturing toward the bed.  
  
Citrine arched her eyebrow at him. "And for this, you attacked him?"  
  
Frodo looked down at his toes, suddenly ashamed. "I was trying to wake him again," he mumbled.  
  
"I see," was all Citrine had to say on the matter.  
  
Frodo looked up at his angry aunt. "I just….I got so scared……I can't lose him, Aunt, I just can't! I'll be kicked out of Bag End! And Bilbo….he's….." Frodo trailed off miserably.  
  
"Where on earth did you get the idea you'll be kicked out of Bag End? For one thing, Bilbo's not dead yet, and if I have my way, he won't be for a long time. For another, he names a guardian for you in his will. Did you honestly think he wouldn't provide for you? After all, he IS over 100, that's a very advanced age for a hobbit, even one so well-preserved as Bilbo. At that age, hobbits plan for this sort of thing," Aunt Citrine replied, wiping her hands on her apron. She tried to keep the scorn in her voice to a minimum, with mixed results.  
  
"It's just something I heard," Frodo muttered, strangely reluctant to get Clover in trouble. It was a vain attempt.  
  
"He got it from me, Mother," Clover spoke up at last. "It's something I said to Bilbo, while you were talking to Frodo. I didn't hear him come in, and he must have overheard me. I'm sorry."  
  
Citrine glared at her daughter. "How many times have I told you not to speculate about what you don't fully understand, child?" she asked in pure exasperation.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't know about the will. I'm sorry," Clover said.  
  
Citrine looked at the two tweenagers, both so forlorn, and sighed. "Well, enough of this. Both of you go now. I need to see to my patient. It's time for another dose."  
  
On that note, Bilbo began to cough again. Citrine turned her full attention to Bilbo, trusting the youngsters to follow her instructions. When Frodo made no move to leave, Clover tugged at his shirtsleeve. He glanced at her. She gestured with her head to the door. "We should go, get out of Mother's way," she whispered.  
  
Frodo glanced back at Bilbo, clearly unwilling to go. "Come on," Clover whispered again. "We'll just be in the other room. Come on," she repeated, dragging Frodo toward the door. He went with very little grace, glancing back at Bilbo until he was out of the room. Clover shut the door, obscuring his view. 


	7. chapter 7

Frodo stared at the bedroom door, clenching his fists and trembling. He looked to his cousin like he was debating the wisdom of simply pounding the door down. Before he could do something rash, she put her arm around his shoulders and dragged him to the couch. She sat him down. "You stay put. I'll make us some tea," she ordered.  
  
"I don't want any tea," Frodo replied sullenly.  
  
"Of course you don't. But you'll drink it anyway, if I make it. You'll eat something, too," Clover retorted, her bossy streak showing itself.  
  
"I'm not hungry," Frodo sulked.  
  
"Not hungry? Nonsense! Since when is a hobbit lad not hungry?" Clover scorned.  
  
"Since now," Frodo replied. Clover favored him with A Look, one she'd copied from her mother. Then she flounced off into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Frodo followed. He was unwilling to be alone. Clover's company was better than none.  
  
His cousin kept up her usual nonstop stream of prattle as she puttered around the kitchen. She discussed the weather, this year's crops, Sam Gamgee's obvious yet unspoken crush on her friend Rose Cotton, the latest examples of snobbery from the Sackville-Bagginses, her little sister's new dress, her older brother's latest scheme for getting rich quick, the letter she received from Aunt Esmeralda, describing Merry and Pippin's latest transgressions, and anything else that came to mind. As she talked she rattled around the kitchen, preparing tea and setting out a hearty snack. She found some cake, a few apples, a nice cheese and some crackers to go with it, cold ham, a loaf of nutbread with fresh butter, half a berry pie, a jug of thick sweet cream, and several ginger cookies. Clover set everything out on the table in front of Frodo, then sat herself across from him. She poured him some tea, but let him do his own blasted cream and sugar. Then she pointed to the ginger cookies, which she knew were a favorite of his. "Eat," she instructed in no uncertain terms.  
  
"I'm not hungry," Frodo murmured, his eyes straying toward the bedroom. He couldn't see the door from here, but that didn't stop him from staring.  
  
"Don't hand me that nonsense, Frodo Baggins. You'll not do Bilbo any good whatsoever by starving yourself. You need to stay strong for him, and for that you need nourishment. So eat," Clover said.  
  
Frodo looked askance at his cousin. Right now he needed someone soothing, someone supportive that he could lean on. He needed Sam, or Merry, or Pippin. Instead, he got Clover, ordering him about and insisting he be strong. Well, he wasn't strong. He couldn't be strong without Bilbo. His uncle WAS his strength, the anchor he clung to when life got stormy. Without him, Frodo felt he would simply crumble into a million pieces, never to be whole again. He didn't have the will to be strong, no matter what Clover Proudfoot so arrogantly ordered. And he did not want to eat.  
  
Clover knew nothing of these thoughts. She could tell by Frodo's expression that he was brooding, but it did not occur to her that her attempts to help were the cause. She was under the impression Frodo simply worried about Bilbo, as she did. Sometimes, Clover understood her cousin completely, and sometimes, not at all. Unfortunately for them both, this was one of the latter.  
  
"Frodo, you have to eat something," she began.  
  
Frodo suddenly stood up, knocking over the bench. He pounded his fist on the table and upset the cream jug. "I HAVE TO DO NOTHING!!!" he bellowed, frightening his cousin. "Do you hear me??? NOTHING!! I don't have to be strong, I don't have to eat, and I DON'T have to sit here and listen to YOU order me around like a child!!!"  
  
For a moment, Clover simply stared openmouthed at Frodo. He seldom showed his anger, and when he did it was primarily with a sort of cold, deadly quiet. Frodo never shouted in anger, never, and it surprised Clover into speechlessness for several seconds. Then her own volatile temper rose to match his, and she in turn stood angrily up. She put her hands on the table and leaned in toward her cousin, right up in his face, eyes flashing.  
  
"Fine!" she hissed. "Be that way! Waste away to a shadow for all I care! Go ahead and let Bilbo down because YOU'RE too cowardly and childish to be there when he needs you!! Rot in your misery and give him nothing to hold onto, until he DOES die and you ARE left alone! See what I care!!"  
  
With those harsh words, Clover turned on her heel and stalked out of Bag End. Frodo remained where he was, shaking with emotion, until he heard the door slam. Then he sank slowly to the floor as his legs gave out on him. He hid his face in his hands and wept.  
  
A short time later, Citrine emerged from the sickroom. Seeing no one in the living room, she called out. "Frodo? Clover?"  
  
"I'm in here, Aunt," came a weak reply.  
  
Citrine followed the voice into the kitchen. She saw Frodo on the floor, still shaking with his face hidden in his hands. She saw the knocked-over bench, the upset cream jug, and noticed the absence of her daughter. "Where is Clover?" she asked.  
  
"She left," Frodo replied simply from behind his hands.  
  
"She left?" Citrine repeated. Clover may have her flaws, as all hobbits did, but she was not one to leave her duties. Citrine was confused and disappointed. Frodo's demeanor also alarmed her, for she was unaccustomed to talking to someone who would not look at her.  
  
Frodo nodded without looking up. Citrine walked over to him, squatted down and gently pried his hands away from his face. She noted the fresh tear marks on his cheeks, the hollowness of them and the way Frodo avoided her eyes. She folded her lips to mask her irritation at her daughter's irresponsibility, and took a deep breath before speaking. "What happened?" she finally asked.  
  
Frodo turned his face away in shame, and said nothing. Aunt Citrine was having none of that. She took Frodo's face in her hands and made him look at her. "I asked you a question, young Frodo," she said.  
  
Frodo saw the determination in his aunt's expression, and knew he could not prevaricate. "We quarreled, and she left. It's my fault, Aunt. She was only trying to help, make me some tea and something to eat, and I yelled at her. I'm sorry," he confessed at last.  
  
Aunt Citrine sighed. She knew full well how often her daughter clashed with her nephew. However, she had thought she'd seen a change in their interactions this day, a change for the better. She'd even begun to speculate on a budding romance, but apparently she was wrong.  
  
"Don't be so hard on yourself, young Frodo. You have had a terrible ordeal today, and it is likely only to get worse. Clover should have shown more patience with you," Citrine said.  
  
"Aunt, she was patient with me. More patient than she usually is. But I yelled at her, and she got mad. She said….." Frodo stopped. He did not want to tattle Clover's hurtful words to her mother. Especially as he had begun to think perhaps she had a point.  
  
"She said what?" Citrine demanded.  
  
Frodo shook his head. He finally found that core of strength he was searching for. He stood up proudly before his aunt and said "What was said was between me and Clover, and I will make it right with her as soon as I am able. You need not concern yourself with it. Just look after Bilbo, make him better. Please?"  
  
Citrine stared long and hard at her nephew. He'd grown in the last few minutes, matured in some subtle way she couldn't put her finger on. Whatever Clover said, it must have been quite something. Still, if Frodo felt he would deal with it on his own, then she would do him the courtesy of respecting that. It wouldn't do to hurt the boy any more than she already had to. She nodded. "Very well, if that's what you wish."  
  
"Yes, that's what I wish," he replied. Then he changed the subject. "How is Bilbo?" he asked, his concern not forgotten during the scene with Clover.  
  
"He is sleeping now, or unconscious. I am not certain which. Still, he has not had a seizure since I went in, which is an improvement. You may go sit with him, if you like," she replied.  
  
Frodo nodded. "Yes, I think I should. He needs me to be there for him. He needs me to be strong." 


	8. chapter 8

Clover stormed out Bag End in a huff. She banged the door shut behind her, but as usual, slamming it didn't make her feel any better. She stalked down the lane, glaring at all who passed. Most hobbits got out of her way, but Lotho Sackville-Baggins made the mistake of approaching the angry hobbit girl.  
  
"Hullo, Clover-lass," he called with what he thought was immense charm as he stepped into her path.  
  
"Move it, Pimple. I'm in no mood to deal with you just now," Clover snarled, not even pausing before him.  
  
"Aw, come on, now, lass, don't be like that," Lotho purred, moving to block Clover's progress. He was deeply in love with Clover Proudfoot, or thought so this week, at any rate. She, however, could not stand the sight of him. Lotho was slimy, stupid, unattractive, self-serving, and he had a tendency to treat girls as inferior beings. Frodo may be irritating, but he was at least intelligent, articulate, and respectful. "And good- looking…" a quiet voice inside Clover pointed out. She did her best to ignore it, focusing her anger instead on Lotho.  
  
"What part of "Move it, Pimple" didn't you understand??" she demanded, not about to waste courtesy on any Sackville-Baggins, least of all this one.  
  
"Oh, Clover, my lass, you know you don't mean that," Lotho said smarmily, sliding up to Clover and slipping an arm around her waist. He told himself he was being friendly, that his lass was obviously upset and in need of comforting. He just didn't get what a truly low opinion of him Clover had, despite the fact that she called him Pimple to his face. She used to even called him Pimple to his mother's face, until Lobelia talked to Citrine Proudfoot and put a stop to that nonsense. Lotho wanted to believe Clover loved him, that she was just playing hard to get, and nothing was going to convince him otherwise.  
  
Not even when she hauled off and belted him across the face. He yelped and let go of her, so she shoved him out of her way. Already off- balance, he sprawled in the dirt. Clover glared down at him, more angry than ever.  
  
"I am NOT 'your lass'! I never have been and I never will be! Get that through your thick stupid Baggins head!! Don't ever talk to me, and don't ever touch me. If you do, I swear I will break your arm in so many places, Mother will never be able to repair it so you can use it again! Have I made myself clear???" she bellowed.  
  
Lotho nodded. Basically cowardly, he had no intention of pressing his suit with Clover just then. Besides, she was part Took, and a friend of Mad Baggins. Everyone knew her mother was odd, too. By the time Clover was out of sight and Lotho thought it safe to get up, he'd convinced himself that he'd broken the girl's heart, and she'd just have to get over him as best she could. Lotho's self-delusion knew no bounds.  
  
Clover knew nothing of Lotho's ego-building at her expense, nor would she have cared did she know. She wasn't truly upset with the slimy little pipsqueak, just disgusted by him. "No, Lotho is not the Baggins I'm so angry at," she told a passing bluejay. "Bilbo is."  
  
As Clover's brain caught up with her mouth, she realized that didn't sound right. "Wait, it's Frodo I'm mad at," she corrected. "I wonder why I said Bilbo?" she asked the bird. The bluejay squawked an answer.  
  
"Yes, you're probably right," Clover agreed, not actually understanding whatever the bird said, just replying to her own thinking-out- loud. "I probably AM angry at Bilbo for going and getting sick and putting us all in this position. I've seen this reaction before, but I've never felt it. It's very odd…..to be mad at a person you love for something that's not their fault. It makes my stomach hurt."  
  
The bluejay called again, then launched himself into the sky. Clover watched the bird fly off, wishing very much that she could join him. But her place was here, in the Shire, assisting her mother with her patients. Especially when the sickest of those patients was Uncle Bilbo. Still, Clover was not ready to go back to Bag End. She sighed heavily and continued on her way.  
  
In due time, she reached her destination. She ducked under the draping branches of the old willow, and settled down on her Thinking Rock. She'd been coming to this small, secluded stream for years, since before she was little Merry's age, even. It was very peaceful here. The water chattered merrily over the stones, headed wherever it was streams headed once they left the Shire. It was not too cold, just chilly enough to refresh weary feet. Little silver fishes could be seen darting in and around the stones, flashing in the dappled sunlight and tickling Clover's toes. A family of sparrows that lived in the willow sang out their joy in being alive. The Thinking Rock was coated in soft moss, inviting tired bones to settle there and stay awhile. The sweet fragrance of water-loving herbs wafted on the breezes that blew down the stream. It was pleasantly cool, pleasantly shady, a good place to soothe a heart-sore spirit. Sometimes, if a hobbit quieted down and was still long enough, the stream had wisdom to impart. Not today, however.  
  
Today Clover's heart was too full of conflict to be soothed, even by the ancient stream. Too many discordant emotions ran through the hobbit, confusing her and preventing the stillness needed to hear the stream properly. She was still angry, yes, angry at Frodo for blowing up at her when she was trying to help him, and at Bilbo for falling ill in the first place, but there was more to it than that. She felt guilty for her anger, and her harsh words to her cousin. She was brutally disappointed in her mother's inability to diagnose the illness, let alone cure it. Clover had always been convinced her mother knew everything about every illness. That Citrine did not scared her witless. The idea that Bilbo may die also frightened her, as did her strange reaction to Frodo's closeness earlier today.  
  
"I don't have any control over the situation, that's what my problem is," Clover informed the stream. "I can't think clearly, can't see the forest for the trees. How am I to help Mother heal Bilbo if I can't focus?? So, the question is, how do I regain my focus? I came here to do that, but it's not working! All I can think about is Frodo. My mind keeps going back to him. This won't do at all! I'm no good to Mother or Bilbo, or even Frodo, if I'm mooning about like some lovesick Bracegirdle from Hardbottle! And I'm too young for this sort of thing, anyway! I want to go abroad, have adventures, learn about the world before I even start looking at lads like that. And Frodo, of all hobbits!!! Frodo the Flighty. Frodo the Annoying. Frodo who's always looking down on me because I can't tell stories and don't speak Elvish! I'd rather wait for Merry to grow up. I'd rather stay a spinster forever! Frodo….yeesh," Clover vented her troubles to the faithful willow. The tree didn't reply, nor did the stream, but the lass felt much better. She didn't have any solutions to the Frodo Problem, but at least she had identified it. From a nameless confusion, it was now a surmountable obstacle. Knowing the nature of her battle would make fighting it that much more doable.  
  
Her mind at ease, Clover stood. Dusk was falling. It was past time for her to get back to Bag End. Mother would be worried, if not actively upset. She also wanted to know if there was any change in Bilbo. She dusted off her skirt and left her Thinking Rock, heading back to the smial. 


	9. chapter 9

While Clover was sorting her head out at her Thinking Rock, Frodo was doing his own soul-searching in Bilbo's sickroom. Not as loquacious as his cousin, at first he simply sat by his uncle's side in silence. He wasn't entirely certain what he was thinking at all, let alone how to verbalize it. Then he recalled something Aunt Citrine had said before sending him in for the second time.  
  
"Talk to him, young Frodo. It seems to help bring him back from whatever dark place he's lost in. It does not matter what you talk about, just talk. Let him know you're there, let him know he's loved and missed. The will to live often makes all the difference in a recovery, more so when it's an uncanny illness like this one. Help Bilbo find the will to live," she'd instructed. It was very similar to something Clover had said, before they'd quarreled. Coming from Aunt Citrine, however, it had an authority Clover's advice lacked.  
  
"I don't really know why I doubt Clover so much, all the time," Frodo finally said, finding both his voice and a subject to discuss. "She's frequently right, you know, Bilbo. Once I get over being upset with her, I realize she's made several good points. It's just….she makes me so angry!" He paused, subconsciously waiting for Bilbo to put his thoughts in. This was not the first time they'd discussed young Ms. Proudfoot, nor Frodo's difficulty in relating to her. Bilbo actually found the entire situation most amusing. He never hesitated to tease them about it. Now, Frodo found himself waiting for the chuckle and jibe Bilbo always made before dispensing his advice. But the chuckle never came.  
  
Frodo looked at Bilbo and sighed. He felt like he wanted to cry, but he had no more tears. "I wish you'd wake up, Bilbo. I miss you so much already. I miss talking to you, I miss your wisdom and advice. I need it badly right now, too. I think I've really offended Clover this time, and she was only trying to help me. I don't know how to handle that girl! I don't know how to handle any of this. I've always relied on you to help me through the hard times. What am I to do now that you're suffering the hardest time of all?" he asked.  
  
Of course, Bilbo did not reply. Instead, he sighed, and groped restlessly at the covers. Frodo took his uncle's hand and stroked it. "Dear Bilbo," he said sadly. "Everyone tells me to be strong for you, to be there for you. And I want to, it's just……" the young hobbit trailed off into confused quiet. The hand Frodo held tightened ever-so-slightly, just a twitch of the fingers. At first, Frodo thought it was the beginning of another seizure, but when none came, he wondered.  
  
"Bilbo?" he called. An eyelid fluttered. "Bilbo?" he called again, and again an eyelid fluttered. "Bilbo, can you hear me?" Frodo asked, his eyes wide with hope. The hand he held twitched once more.  
  
"Bilbo, if you can hear me, try to squeeze my hand," he instructed. Bilbo's hand twitched for a third time, now with a tiny bit more force. Frodo whooped for joy. "Aunt!" he screamed. "Aunt Citrine, come quickly!!"  
  
The elder hobbit came tearing into the room, expecting more trouble. She saw instead Frodo smiling, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "What is it?" she asked, bustling up to the bed.  
  
"Bilbo heard me! He responded to me! Just a twitch, that's all, but definitely in a response. He's awake!" Frodo cried in excitement.  
  
"Calm down, young Frodo," Aunt Citrine tried to curb Frodo's exuberance. "Are you certain?" She did not want to doubt her nephew's word, but she knew that sometimes the relatives of a patient would want them to be well so badly, they'd imagine improvements that were not real. Frodo had never struck her as the type to do that, but then again, he was known to be flighty. Hope was a good thing, but sometimes too much of it played tricks on a hobbit's mind.  
  
Frodo sensed his aunt's doubt and grew annoyed. "Of course I'm certain!" he stated firmly. "Watch this."  
  
Citrine watched as Frodo turned his focus back toward his uncle. "Bilbo?" he called gently. Nothing happened. "Bilbo, can you hear me?" he called again. Citrine was about to pull Frodo away and send him out for some obviously much-needed rest when she clearly saw Bilbo's eye twitch. "There, did you see that?" Frodo exclaimed triumphantly.  
  
She nodded slowly, not particularly willing to say this. "I saw it indeed, young Frodo, but I am not convinced it was in response to you. He's been twitching like this all day."  
  
Frodo glared at his aunt. He could see where Clover got her stubbornness from. "Perhaps that's the only way he can talk to you. Perhaps his twitches have been in response to whomever's in the room all along," he said.  
  
Citrine eyed Frodo doubtfully. His notion was possible, of course, but not very likely. She had tried when she first came in to get some response out of Bilbo, no matter how small. He would calm briefly at the sound of someone's voice, but never gave any indication he heard, much less understood. To Citrine's practiced eye, Bilbo remained lost in whatever dark dreams he suffered. That Frodo should get a reply when her skills did not galled her, but not enough to dismiss the idea out of hand. Love did strange things to a hobbit, and there was no denying Bilbo loved Frodo more than any hobbit in the Shire. Perhaps the lad was on to something.  
  
As Citrine thought this through, Frodo grew more impatient. He did not like having his word doubted. He felt his intelligence was being insulted, and he was about to say something that would most likely get him in big trouble when his aunt spoke.  
  
"I will believe you for now, young Frodo, but I would like more than a random eye-twitch to go on," she said at last.  
  
Hope sprang back up in Frodo's heart. His tart words for Aunt Citrine left his mind completely. "He squeezed my hand when I asked him to," he said instead.  
  
Citrine raised an eyebrow. Trust a tweenager to forget the most important detail! She reigned in her irritation and did not scold Frodo, but merely asked "Can you get him to do it again?"  
  
"I'll try," he agreed, turning back to Bilbo. "Uncle, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand again."  
  
Citrine watched Bilbo's hand very closely. She was not expecting anything at all, so she was properly surprised when it obediently tightened on Frodo's. The grip was clearly feeble, fleeting, but undeniably in response to Frodo's words. "I am sorry I doubted you, young Frodo," she apologized. "In light of this, I would like to give him a thorough going- over again. You may remain, if you feel up to it. Your presence here seems to make a big difference."  
  
Frodo nodded, reluctantly letting go of Bilbo's hand and getting out of Aunt Citrine's way. He stepped back and watched her set to work. 


	10. chapter 10

A/N—I know this is short. I suspect all "Bilbo POV" chapters will be short and choppy like this. Its tone rather calls for brevity.  
  
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Bilbo was lost in a nightmare, alone and afraid. All was shadow, and flame. He did not know where he was, had no memory of leaving the Shire, no clue what had happened to him. He knew only that he must run, and hide, and protect himself.  
  
Vague monsters leapt out at him, only to disappear over his head. Slobbering shadows made to devour him, only to dissolve back into the greater darkness. The path he found himself running down twisted and turned unexpectedly, dumping him into blind alleys where Death awaited. Each time, the hobbit would slash out with Sting, and the horror would retreat. It never occurred to Bilbo to wonder why he had Sting with him. It never occurred to Bilbo to wonder at all—he was too busy staying alive.  
  
A flame drove him on from behind. He could feel its heat at his back, though he would not turn to face it. Bilbo thought it might be Smaug, though that did not seem quite right. He couldn't think of anything else that would be breathing fire down his back. In any case, he was not about to stop running to palaver with whatever wanted him fried.  
  
"A fine pickle you've found yourself in, Bilbo," he told himself as he ran. "This is far worse than anything you ran into with Gandalf and the dwarves. Worse, even, than Gollum."  
  
Right on cue, a thin wail of "Thieeef!!! Bagginssssssssss, we hatesssssss it forever!!" came out of the darkness. The elderly hobbit stopped his running and turned toward the sound.  
  
"I am NOT a thief!" he cried, waving Sting defiantly. "I won, fair and square!"  
  
"Thieeeeeef!" Gollum's voice accused again. "It tookssss the Preciousssssss!! It STEALSSSSS it!!"  
  
"I did NOT!" Bilbo insisted. "It was a present. MY present!"  
  
"THIEEEEEFF!!!!" Gollum cried, louder and closer. Bilbo steeled himself for battle. He knew he would not be able to avoid killing Gollum this time. He found he did not want to. He believed now the pity that had stayed his hand last time was simple weakness. The world would be a much better place without Gollum in it, and to spare him again would be sheer folly. This time, Gollum would die by Bilbo's hand. 


	11. chapter 11

Clover picked up her pace as she trotted down the lane toward Hobbiton. Dusk was fading to twilight. The lass had spent far more time at her Thinking Rock than she'd intended. If she didn't hurry, Mother would be angry. More than that, Bilbo could be worsening. He could be dead by now! Suddenly worried, Clover began to run.  
  
The sky darkened, and worry inched toward panic. She ran down the familiar lane, not really looking where she was going. Her thoughts were centered on Bag End and Uncle Bilbo, so she did not notice the small figure she knocked over as she brushed past.  
  
"Hey!" the hobbit lad cried, picking himself up and dusting himself off. He glared at his assailant, recognizing the distinctive run of his best girl cousin. A plot for revenge sprang fully-formed into the little lad's mind. Without pausing to think, he took off after Clover. The instant he was close enough, he pounced on her back.  
  
She went down with a yelp, and came up swinging. The lad laughed, still clinging to her back. "Gotcha, Clover!" he giggled in her ear.  
  
"Merry!" Clover shouted, prying the boy off her back and flipping him over her shoulders. He somersaulted in the air, landed on his feet, and bowed, grinning.  
  
"Been practicing that for a month," he commented.  
  
"What are you doing in Hobbiton?" Clover demanded. She glared down at Merry, hands on her hips.  
  
"Mum sent me to your house to get me out of her hair," he replied, his grin turning mischievous.  
  
Clover sighed. "What'd you do now?"  
  
Merry stared at his toes and muttered "Overturned a butter churn chasing Pippin"  
  
"Mer-ry!" Clover scolded, "churning butter is hard work!"  
  
"I know," he said ruefully. "Mum made me churn a new batch. Then she sent me here."  
  
"Serves you right. Is the baby with you?" Though Pippin was old enough to both talk and walk, as he gleefully informed everybody, Clover still thought of him as the baby.  
  
Merry shook his head. "Nah, Mum sent him home. Said we needed time apart."  
  
Clover sighed in relief. Though as they grew older it became increasingly difficult to separate them, she still preferred to deal with Meriadoc and Peregrin one at a time. Two of them was just too much, especially now.  
  
"Why are you out so late?" Clover asked, to keep her thoughts from wandering back to Bilbo and Frodo.  
  
"Uncle Marmaduke said I was making him nuts, and to go find something to do. So I came outside for a walk," the younger hobbit replied. "Why isn't Aunt Citrine home?" he asked, mostly to prevent Clover from asking what he'd been doing to make her father nuts.  
  
Clover didn't even notice the lad's pseudo-confession. "Mother is needed elsewhere right now. I am, too, actually, so I must leave you. Try not to destroy anything else," she said, turning to continue on her way.  
  
"Clover, that doesn't answer my question! Where's Auntie needed? And where're you going? And what's all the fuss about, anyway? Everybody in town's in a tither about Bilbo being sick. Bilbo can't be sick, he never gets sick," Merry pestered, trotting after his cousin. He sensed a mystery, and if there was one thing he loved, it was getting to the bottom of something mysterious.  
  
Clover turned so abruptly that little Merry ran into her. She stared down at her cousin for several seconds, chewing her lip while she tried to decide what to tell him. In the end, she concluded that he was plenty old enough to hear the truth. "Bilbo is indeed sick, little cousin. Very sick, and nobody knows what's wrong with him!"  
  
Merry blanched. Like Clover, like Frodo, he's always taken Bilbo's good health completely for granted. It was just one of those constants of life, like the sun rising in the east every morning or things always falling down if you dropped them.  
  
"But..but...Bilbo CAN'T get sick! He just can't!" he protested with a child's logic. Bilbo had never in Merry's life been sick, therefore Bilbo could not get sick. It was simple, straightforward, and suddenly very wrong.  
  
While Frodo was her most irritating cousin, Merry was easily her favorite. Clover couldn't stand to see him so upset, but neither could she lie to him. She kneeled down and gathered the boy into her arms. "Oh, Merry, I'm sorry, but Bilbo is very sick indeed. What's worse, Mother doesn't know what's wrong with him!"  
  
Merry threw his arms around Clover and clung tightly. "How can Auntie Citrine not know what's wrong? She knows everything about every illness ever!" he said.  
  
"I thought that too, but I'm afraid we're both wrong. Nobody really knows what's happened to Bilbo, only that he's stricken with some fell disease. I wish I DID know what was wrong, so I help Mother could cure him!" Clover replied.  
  
Merry pulled himself out of Clover's grasp. He looked at his cousin, obviously thinking. "You're going to Bag End, aren't you, to see Bilbo? I want to come, too," he declare.  
  
"Merry, I don't think.." Clover began.  
  
"I want to see Bilbo," Merry interrupted. "And if I know Frodo, he needs some cheering up, too," he continued.  
  
There really was nothing Clover could say to that. Merry was completely correct; Frodo DID need cheering up, and she was obviously not the one to do it. Merry had always been close to Frodo. Perhaps he would succeed where she had failed so spectacularly.  
  
"Oh, all right. You'll just follow me anyway, so you may as well come too," Clover caved.  
  
"Too right!" Merry grinned, taking Clover's hand. "Let's go see if we can help our cousins."  
  
Clover simply nodded. It was difficult, keeping up with Merry's changes of mood. She was afraid he was too young and inexperienced to witness Bilbo's suffering. But if he thought he could help, then she was inclined to let him. Perhaps little Merry's cheerful demeanor would be just the thing to help Bilbo recover, or at least help Frodo through this. In any case, she found the child's presence uplifting, and wouldn't mind having him around herself. She gave him a little smile as they set back off toward Bag End. 


End file.
